Start a War (Saint View Psychos #1)(75)

Nash had seen what I needed and given it to me without even asking.

All I’d given him were unfounded accusations and a blatant lack of trust and respect.

“I’ll earn it back,” I promised the silent room. “I swear, I’ll earn it back.”





26





BLISS





I was going to throw up.

That was the overwhelming gut reaction I’d had all evening while I counted the clock down to midnight, when the party would begin. One minute I was hot and sweaty, the next I was cold and clammy. I couldn’t settle down. I gravitated between the bar and the hidden back rooms, checking and checking again that everything was in place and ready.

“You’re making me dizzy with your pacing,” Vincent commented from his spot by the door.

I grimaced at him. “Sorry. I’m getting in the way, aren’t I?”

He shook his head. “No, but why are you so worried? Nash and Rebel have done this many times before. So have all the other staff.”

“But I haven’t,” I wailed, sidling up next to him. “The outfit I’m wearing is very skimpy.”

His dark-eyed gaze rolled over my jeans and Psychos T-shirt. “Your arms are bare, I suppose. But it’s hardly revealing.”

I laughed. “I’m not wearing this once the party starts.” I wondered whether to tell him about the outfit I had planned but then decided I’d just surprise him.

Nothing had happened between us since our first date and kiss. But Vincent followed me around everywhere, glaring at anyone who so much as dared to glance in my direction.

Nash had continued to call him my guard dog, but as far as I was concerned, Vincent was doing exactly what I paid him to do. It wasn’t just me he looked out for. He watched Rebel cautiously when patrons got too rowdy. He’d only had to step in once, and Rebel had kissed his cheek and told him he was the sweetest.

Vincent’s cheeks had stayed red for an hour after that.

He was protective of all my employees. Even Nash. Not that Nash would let himself notice.

He was still hurt over Wednesday night.

I couldn’t blame him. I knew I had to give him time.

At eleven thirty, I did two shots of tequila, knocking them back hard and fast because I needed the Dutch courage. Then I went into my beautiful new office and sat at my desk. With my palms flat on the desktop and the door locked, I took three deep breaths.

I didn’t have to do this.

But a part of me wanted to. I’d felt sexy and wanted in my black ripped-up dress last time. I’d liked the way people—especially War and Nash—had looked at me in it.

War was going to be here again tonight, and I wanted to look good. For him, but also for me. Rebel was planning on nude waitressing again, but I couldn’t do that. I didn’t have her confidence. But I pulled out the bottom drawer of my desk and lifted out the Victoria’s Secret bag with trembling fingers.

Inside was the most beautiful piece of lingerie I’d ever seen. I lifted it from the tissue paper it was wrapped in and took a deep breath. “Are you seriously going to wear that, in public?” I murmured.

But it was either that or jeans. I hadn’t brought any other options because I knew I’d wimp out and take them.

“Just do it. You’ll fit right in. You know this. Nobody is going to stop and stare and be like, ‘OMG! Bliss is in her underwear!’ when they’re all in theirs, or less, too.”

I was glad I was alone for the pep talk. Because it was embarrassingly lame. I was a twenty-five-year-old woman. I could own this. If Rebel could get her gear off entirely, I could strut my stuff out there in a sexy outfit that was no more revealing than a bathing suit.

Determined, I toed my shoes and socks off, placing them neatly in the bottom drawer. My jeans went next and then my shirt.

I was down to my underwear and suddenly paralyzed.

“Bliss?” Vincent’s voice came through the door with an accompanying knock.

I yelped, covering myself with my hands. Then realized that was stupid, because the door was locked. “Yes?” I called back.

“Whatever you’re wearing, you’ll look beautiful.”

I slumped, my hands falling away from my body.

I was tempted to throw the door open and kiss him. It had been exactly what I needed to hear. Just one person to say I looked great.

Vincent didn’t lie. He didn’t tell people what they wanted to hear.

When he gave a compliment, he truly meant it.

“Thank you,” I said quietly through the closed door.

“You’re welcome.”

I shed my boring, cotton, everyday underwear and slipped on the midnight-blue panties. They cut halfway across my ass, full enough to provide some coverage and not ride up, but cute and cheeky at the same time. There was no bra. It was more of a lace tank top that plunged deep between my breasts. In the light of my office, it was sheer enough to show a hint of nipple, though once the lights were off in the club, I knew that wouldn’t be noticeable.

But the parts I found sexiest were the thigh-high stockings and the little belts and clips that held the entire outfit together. They were tight across my thighs and held the top from moving out of place.

I blew out a shaking breath and then put the lingerie out of my mind. It was done, and I needed to move on to hair and makeup. The last two things I added were my favorite pair of heels, ones I knew I’d be able to work in for hours without getting a blister, and my mask.